


Celebrations & Crows

by Aly_H



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Antivan Crows, Attempted Murder, Birthday Celebrations, Drinking, Experimental style (for me), Injury, King Alistair, M/M, Post-Blight, mildly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_H/pseuds/Aly_H
Summary: The Hero of Ferelden's birthday celebration (and send-off prior to his visiting Orlais in preparation for assuming the mantle of Warden-Commander) are interrupted by an attack on his lover, Zevran Arainai, by the Antivan Crows.





	1. 22:30

**Author's Note:**

> Ajir (trashwarden/laterfortevinter over on Tumblr) requested a Falcon x Zevran fic where one of them gets injured with in a fight.
> 
> I was very bored and trapped in a car traveling through Midwestern America with my family, so I experimented with my style a bit on this one. I liked how it turned out though. :)

_The Royal Study, 4 Haring 22:30_

“I’d have preferred something quiet,” the Hero of Ferelden complained a little as he was pulled into his lover’s lap. Zevran had already stolen a seat on one of the plush couches in the king’s sitting room.

They and their friends were filing in since the night had finally drawn on long enough for them to slip away from their official duties to celebrate as friends instead of the public figures and new roles they now occupied with the end of the Fifth Blight.

Falcon settled comfortably, with one of the Antivan’s arms looped around his waist, his own arm draped over Zevran’s shoulders. The two had spent most the night on the dance floor together if only to avoid spending time making nice with the various dignitaries and nobility. He was usually a little shyer about such things but given the current company he had little reason to be concerned over _this_ level of public affection.

“It’s good for Ferelden to celebrate,” Alistair informed him wryly, quoting Eamon’s reasoning for the larger celebration, as he dropped his crown to the desk. He half suspected Redcliffe’s arl had suggested a formal celebration of the mage’s birthday to annoy Falcon as Falcon holding the official title of Chancellor had rankled him a little. (Never mind Falcon was no fonder of having an official position at court either.) “My advisors thought with most the emergency reconstructions now finished and you being about to leave for _Orlais_ you needed a good send off.”

“Orlais is not as bad as you might think, Alistair,” Leliana chided, smiling into her wine glass as she settled on the couch beside Zevran and the Warden, well newly appointed Warden-Commander.

“Oh, that’s probably true – it’s probably _worse_.”

“Then think of our brother Wardens whom I go to rescue from the fortress outside Val Royeaux and bring back to the land of terrible food and good dogs.”

Alistair’s gaze softened a little – since taking the throne it often felt as if everyone had forgotten he’d been a Warden first. That Falcon still called him a brother meant more than he was willing to admit this sober. “I happen to be king of that land – thank you very much for that, by the way.”

“Enough chit-chat, there’s gotta be more booze around here somewhere,” Oghren complained.

“Bottom right drawer in the desk, my fine dwarven friend,” Zevran chuckled. He’d put the bottle there for Alistair – thought the poor harried king of Ferelden could use a drink or three while he was being hunted by every matchmaking great-Aunt in Thedas.

Wynne laughed softly, surveying the little band of misfits that had saved their nation warmly. “I think I’ll turn in for the night. I’m not quite as young as I used to be.”

A chorus of goodnights greeted her and she was sure to place a kiss on the Warden’s temple before she made her way to the room she had been given use of as the temporary court mage.


	2. 00:00

_The Royal Study, 5 Haring 00:00_

Leliana giggled softly as she set the quill back in place, a wicked grin at the masterpiece she and Falcon had left on the king’s face.

Swirls. A massive twisted moustache. And the words _BIG CHEES_ printed across his forehead.

Zevran opted not to point out the misspelling to either of the trouble makers.

Instead he smiled faintly to himself that Falcon had been corrupted enough that his spelling now went before his ability to keep himself upright (although that was currently rather wobbly in and of itself).


	3. 00:45

_Palace Courtyard, 5 Haring_ 00:45

A kiss stolen in a dark corner in a moment of privacy.

The promise of more for after the approaching shadows are dealt with.


	4. 01:00

_Palace Courtyard, 5 Haring 01:00_

A glint in the moonlight from the rooftop. Spotted too late. The knifemen had been a distraction.


	5. 01:20

_Warden Quarters, 5 Haring 01:20_

Wynne was still dressed in her nightclothes, her focus on keeping the Warden alive.

Leliana stands guard at the door, intent on making sure no further attempts are allowed to take place that night. Alistair is arranging the hunt for the surviving assassin – the shooter – somewhere in the rooms beyond, his voice echoing back to them full of the command he was still learning to wield.

Zevran kept his eyes from his unconscious lover, focusing on his own hands.

“The antidote’s nearly done,” he snapped to the healer, all pretenses at niceties stripped away by his fury and worry.


	6. 02:59

_Warden Quarters, 5 Haring 02:59_

“He’ll live,” Wynne promised, her voice weary but she had never been one for false reassurances regarding her role as a healer.

He stayed quiet, tense – Falcon had always seemed so fragile. Nearly killed by Zevran himself the first time they’d met (and he’d barely even been _trying_ ) and there had been so many close calls during the Blight.

Still he’d thought…

The Archdemon was _dead_.  Falcon was supposed to be safe. Safer, anyways. They’d sacrificed so much to have this chance at a life.

And it’d nearly been stolen by another lucky Crow.

He closed his eyes, listening to the others leave him to his vigil. They would be close by, he was certain, but were providing him some measure of privacy. No harm would come to their beloved Warden with him standing guard. Well, he and the mabari that had settled on the floor beside his chair. Loopy was worth several knights on his own.

The bolt hadn’t been meant for the mage. Falcon had gotten in the way protecting _him_.

“Braska!” he spat into the silence of the room, met only with the soft whine of the dog echoing his frustration.

The Crows could not be ignored.

He had hoped they would let him free – a naïveté, he’d known, but it wasn’t every day a Crow helped end the Blight.

House Arainai would have lost nearly all its power with most its best assassins either in their graves or turned traitor. He, Rinna and Taliesin had won the House its rank through their blood and blades, her death had marked the end of House Arainai’s rise no matter what the Guildmasters might claim.

In the morning when he was certain his Warden had woken he would make his plans.

Loathe as he was to do it he had business in Antiva that required tending. Business he would _not_ allow his beloved near.

Falcon had looked forward to the trip to Val Royeaux, all ribbing of Leliana aside. He’d wanted to go shopping and to try the cafes that the bard had told them of. He’d made a face at the idea of visiting the Grand Cathedral but had smiled immediately after promising he’d go – _and behave, no magic_  - if Zevran wished to visit. (And he did, for he was not quite so eager to dismissal Andraste and the Maker as his lover.)

“Forgive me, _mi amor_ ,” he murmured, lifting one of the mage’s still hands to his lips and pressing a kiss on it.

 


	7. 10:00(ish)

_Warden Quarters, 5 Haring 10:00(ish)_

He startled to wakefulness at the touch on his arm – ice cold and _wet_. And found himself being watched by a set of pathetic looking blue eyes.

“Did I actually get shot or did I just drink enough to _feel_ like I did? Because I feel like I did the day after the Provings,” the mage was keeping his tone from whining…just barely. (Though him complaining always made Zev smile, Falcon rarely voiced such complaints to anyone except himself, or more rarely Alistair and Leliana.)

“The bolt was poisoned,” he said, moving to sit on the bed beside the mage – suspecting his being out of reach was why he’d gotten the frost magic as an awakening anyways. “You need to rest, my Warden.”

Carefully he arranged himself to have an arm around the slighter elf, and Falcon relaxed against his side.

“The Crows then?”

“Stubborn fools, all of them,” he nodded.

“…when will you leave?”

Zevran’s smile was wry, as he turned his head to kiss the tip of the ear adorned with a golden earring.

“When you go to Orlais, I think. You will have Leliana to keep you company, and the Wardens when you return.”

“I was hoping you’d be there when I tried making this Vigil’s Keep a home. The décor is going to be _terrible_ without you to help.”

That got a chuckle, “I know.”


End file.
